


I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour.

by hemisphaeric



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: M/M, Maybe - Freeform, pain with a tiny bit of softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25588504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemisphaeric/pseuds/hemisphaeric
Summary: He flopped back on the bed, his breaths coming out too quickly, his heart beating too fast as an invisible hand closed around his ribs. Yet, he chose to ignore it, patting Helsinki on the arm as an appreciation, a sort of fucked up ‘Thank you for your service, Helsinki, it was very nice to be fucked by you, please let’s do that again soon.’
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour.

**Author's Note:**

> @brownest_goldfish_intheair and I came up with the idea for this little thing, then we decided to each write her own version of it, enjoy 🌚
> 
> you can find her version here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575019

Martín had lay his cards on the table since the first time they fucked, it was clear they were not to engage in any kind of relationship except for the sexual one. They were just going to get together to alleviate some tension, to burst out some steam from their overly powered engines. No feelings involved, no emotional attachment whatsoever, especially given their delicate positions in the whole heist situation, as Sergio had referred to it. Martín was sure he just wanted to be fucked, to enjoy some rough sex while spending time in the monastery, bringing back to life the creation he had devoted years to working on and perfecting, with and _for_ Andrés. _Berlín_ as the other members of the gang had known him. As Helsinki had known him. 

Helsinki.  
He had talked about Andrés, _Berlín_ , about how good of a leader he had been, righteous and powerful in his perfectly majestic appearance, composed and collected as he gave orders both to the gang and the hostages. Helsinki had told Martín, _Palermo_ , how Berlín had tied Tokyo to a stroller and he had thrown her out of the Bank, with the serious accusation of insurrection. 

Helsinki.  
He hadn’t known about Martín’s past, of course he hadn’t, how could he have known, when at times it didn’t even feel real to Martín himself? He had spent years drowning every ounce of grief in copious amounts of cheap alcohol and easy drugs, not caring in the least for the consequences that might bring to his own body or his own life. He didn’t really care about himself, why would he bother thinking about such things? Palermo had been left scarred and broken and all he could do to survive was embrace his new way of being, a dark creature who relished in the pleasure he could get from being fucked in the most depraved ways, he sought pleasure and pleasure only, no matter how degrading it may be to get to it.

Helsinki.  
He had revealed himself to be infuriatingly different from what Martín had imagined, maddeningly tender in his way of handling him. Martín hated softness, especially during sex, he never felt like it was his thing to just have that sort of tenderness, fucking was supposed to be just a way to release tension, to sate the animalistic need to ejaculate. Boom. Boom. Ciao. 

The first time with Helsinki had been very satisfying, Martín’s little breakdown to blame only on the lack of alcohol in his system, he had made the mistake of not getting intoxicated enough and that fact had played up on his psyche; having sex when almost completely sober was something he hand’t done in a very long time. He simply wasn’t used to it, hence the weird reaction. Martín had successfully been able to forget about that as they got to fuck more and more, in different rooms and places around the monastery.  
He had almost been able to forget about how many times he had thought about having sex with Andrés in all those places so many years before. 

He flopped back on the bed, his breaths coming out too quickly, his heart beating too fast as an invisible hand closed around his ribs. Yet, he chose to ignore it, patting Helsinki on the arm as an appreciation, a sort of fucked up _‘Thank you for your service, Helsinki, it was very nice to be fucked by you, please let’s do that again soon.’_  
The man lying beside him just smiled and shrugged, closing his eyes and almost immediately dozing off. Martín observed him for some seconds, then everything became too much, staring at Helsinki’s openly vulnerable face right in front of him, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open had started feeling too intimate, too raw. Martín turned away and curled up on the edge of the bed, his mind playing tricks on him again, biting and mocking, hurting him from the inside in the most vile imaginable sort of betrayal.

Helsinki.  
He tried to calm his heavy breathing and this time he succeeded, taking pride in the way he considered himself able to control his emotions once again. He just knew he needed alcohol and pills to be able to do that, but it was a price he was willing to pay to alleviate the pain and the sensations that bit away at his flesh when he was awake and sober.

_Helsinki._

The breeze came in through the open window, the gentle crispy autumn air moving his hair away from his forehead, caressing his face like the most gentle lover. He blinked his eyes open, taking in the scene of his room, the papers spread everywhere around him, together with his books and some of Andrés’ paintings. He had gladly given Martín some of them, indulging him, _‘Of course you can have those, Martín, anything that’s mine is also yours.’_ Martín remembered the warm feeling that had filled his heart in that moment, as he stood up and stretched his arms out, greeting the new day with a sort of happiness and lightness he hadn’t felt in years. He padded slowly to the chapel, a cup of coffee magically appearing in his hand. Upon entering the long corridor of the room, Martín noticed how a figure was standing there, a big smile forming on the man’s face as he approached him.  
“Andrés? What are you doing here?”  
Andrés laughed, closing his eyes and characteristically throwing his head back, “What do you mean? I live here, Martín”  
“But, you’re dead. You left me and then you died,” Martín took a deep breath, inching closer to the man standing in front of him, “You went on to follow your brother’s plan and you died in the Mint back in Madrid.” He moved closer, and closer trying to reach Andrés, whose figure was growing paler, almost translucent; he could see right through him, right through the place where the heart was supposed to be, he could observe the door of the model of the Bank of Spain. Andrés was fading away and Martín couldn’t reach him.  
“I died and you’re back here in our home. You’re here behaving like a slut with another member of the gang.” Andrés’ scornful laugh pierced Martín right through and he stopped in his tracks, tears falling down his cheeks, “I’m so disappointed by you Martín, I thought you were more than that, more professional, able to separate duty from pleasure. Turns out you’re just like anybody else.” 

Tears were streaming down his cheeks as Martín woke up shaking, his body covered in a thin sticky layer of cold sweat and he found himself curled up on the edge of the bed. The sheets were caging him, his body tangled up in the viciously soft cotton, his breaths irregular and not deep enough, his lungs unable to fill up with the oxygen he needed as panic and pain stung and filled him thoroughly.  
Then he felt an arm coming to embrace him, a sort of unfamiliar yet not unwanted heat spreading from his back through his whole body as he was embraced from behind, held tight against a warm chest. He instinctively relaxed, revelling in the feeling of being held as his breath returned to a regular pattern of rhythmical ins an outs. 

Helsinki.  
The man was holding him. He was asleep, Martín could understand that, yet he had reached out to embrace him when he needed it. He kept sobbing silently, hating himself and the person he had become, hating how it hurt to just let somebody hug him. How he felt trapped by the arm holding him despite feeling like it was exactly what he craved in that moment. 

Andrés.  
It was his fault. His fault if Martín had turned into such a vile creature, a terrible monster with nothing to give, a person who could only take and take, an egotistical, self-centred dark creature whose hands only brought destruction and chaos. He loathed how physical intimacy made him feel like he needed to crawl away from his own skin in order to escape from the feeling of vulnerability that it produced. Martín had never wanted to appear vulnerable to anybody. The last time he had let his guard down he had had his heart torn out of his chest and smashed under Andrés’ foot. He had deserved that, of course he had. Being vulnerable had only taught Martín one thing: you risk losing everything. 

It hit him right then, how easy it would have been to give in to the temptation of letting Helsinki in, to let him hold him at night and cuddle him to sleep.  
It would have been so easy, had Palermo not been such a wretched, unlovable creature, had he not lived with the ghost of the man he had loved for so long. He could almost feel Andrés’ eyes on him, the scornful look and cruel laugh he had reserved for him in his dreams so many times since he had been back in the monastery. The place wasn’t his home anymore, it kept him trapped in a vice made of cold concrete walls and old promises, dusty rooms and painful memories.

He shivered when he felt a kiss being tenderly placed on the back of his neck, quickly followed by whispered words, “Go back to sleep, Palermo” and when Helsinki held him tighter to his chest, Martín gave in completely, for once capable of hiding his thoughts away between the creases of his brain, for once able to suffocate the pain and just fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt we came up with was "Martín wakes up at night after having sex with Mirko in the monastery and thinks about Andrés." oh and he cries, obviously. :)


End file.
